


False Faces

by meaninglessblah



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bargaining, Begging, Blood Kink, Collars, Coming In Pants, Daddy Kink, Explicit Sexual Content, Holography, Insults, Knifeplay, M/M, Mirror Sex, Modeling, Past Dick Grayson/Roman Sionis - Freeform, Scarification, Scars, Technology, Threats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:49:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29602728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meaninglessblah/pseuds/meaninglessblah
Summary: Janus Cosmetics specialises in facial holographic tech, selling collars that can “repair” any damaged face with a projected mask. Jason is Roman’s newest posterboy and the current “face” of Janus Cosmetics, whose job is to demonstrate just how effective their holocollars really are in covering up any blemish.
Relationships: Roman Sionis/Jason Todd
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15
Collections: Romin Week 2021





	False Faces

**Author's Note:**

> For [Roman/Robin Week 2021](https://romanrobinweek.tumblr.com/) Day 3: ~~Earth 3 | Sex Worker AU~~ | Collars

“He’s not here,” Jason tells him when Dick steps out of the elevator onto the penthouse floor. Doesn’t stop his bright blue eyes from shifting across the sleek, reflective black tile, flashing over the lounge suite and the matte desk and the bust of Janus in the hallway. 

The man swallows, and Jason’s eyes drop to watch the collar rise against the nock of his throat. “When’s he getting back?” Dick asks, and Jason’s lip curls at the hopeful note in his tone. 

He's got the tentative demeanour of an addict scratching for their next fix; Jason knows it too well to be anything but repulsed by it. Especially on the face of his predecessor. 

_How the mighty fall,_ Jason thinks cruelly. 

He turns back for the hallway, rolling his eyes when Dick immediately falls into step behind him, as familiar with the layout as he had been the day Roman kicked him out. 

Dick does hesitate when they reach the soft, plush carpet of the living room though. Jason crosses it barefoot, the heels of his sweats rasping softly when he steps past the disfigured face of the bust sectioning the doorway. Dick lingers on the other side, eyes flicking around the room. 

Jason ducks behind the bar in the corner, lip curling up at Dick’s hesitation. He slams a glass down on the wood, perhaps a little more aggressively than is warranted, and Dick jumps, gaze snapping back to him. 

“Why are you here?” 

Dick watches him pop the corked lid off a decanter with his thumb, uncaring when it rolls off the benchtop and onto the carpet. The amber liquid licks up the side of the glass beneath Jason’s inattentive eye, and Dick licks his lips. 

“I wanted to speak with Roman,” Dick says, like it’s being coaxed out of him. Jason sets the bourbon decanter aside and watches Dick over the rim of his glass when he takes a deep sip. Dick’s eyes flash to Jason’s face, his lips, and shift away swiftly. 

Jason smirks. “What did you want to speak with him about?” 

“That’s between me and Roman.” The response is curt, and it makes Jason’s teeth itch. He runs his tongue over them, aware of Dick’s gaze shifting over and away again. Like he can’t help himself. 

Cocking a bare hip against the counter, Jason crosses his arms, cupping the glass in his palm as he surveys the man. He’s certainly a pretty sight, standing awkwardly beneath Roman’s expensive downlights. They make his skin glow that rich tan, make his hair - dark, almost black, but with a hint of brown near the roots - gleam. He looks like a walking ad, an ethereal quality to his high cheekbones and soft lips. 

Jason hates him. 

He sucks his teeth and twists his lips into a cruel but patient smile. “Don’t pussyfoot around the question, Dickie. If you can say it to Roman, you can say it to me. What do you want?” 

Dick’s expression fades from condoling hospitality to restrained distaste. Jason can read his displeasure in the hard line of his jaw, the terse purse of his lips. He makes a living off faces; he ought to know them well by now. 

Those long, athletic arms come up to cross over his chest, defensive and rebuffing at once. When he speaks, it sounds like the words are being forced out of him, sharp and pointed. He still won’t look directly at Jason, fixing his gaze just above his left shoulder. “I need an upgrade.” 

Jason scoffs, stepping around the bar. He throws back the rest of his drink, for good measure, and tosses it back onto the benchtop. It settles amongst the clean glasses with a soft clatter as Jason approaches him. 

“Then go buy yourself an upgrade.” 

It’s Dick’s turn to sneer. It should be an ugly look on him, but with those angelic features, it just isn’t. “You know I can’t.” 

“Sure you can, Dickie,” Jason purrs, reaching up to flick the metal at the base of the man’s throat. Dick jerks back from the contact like he’s been burned. 

Jason flops down onto the nearest cream leather sofa, kicking his heels up and crossing his bare feet at the ankles as he reclines leisurely. Dick’s gaze slides away as soon as he turns, jumping from his back to the painting above him. 

It curls something bitter and acidic on the back of Jason’s tongue. He makes sure he sprawls out, bold and loud, beneath Dick’s uncomfortable not-stare. 

“Just walk your ass down to the street corner,” Jason continues, as if there’d never been a break in their conversation. “And beg one of the whores for their face.” 

Dick’s gaze does snap to him then, properly, and there’s fiery hatred in those blue orbs. It’s the first ugly look Jason’s seen on the man, caged behind those perfect features. 

“Fuck you,” he snaps between two rows of flashing white teeth. 

“Their models have got to be newer than yours by now, don’t they?” Jason continues, voice rising to a contemplative taunt. He cocks his head, just to rile the man further. “What are you wearing still, the S-series?” 

Dick’s hand twitches towards his throat, before it curls back to his side in a trembling fist. “Where’s Roman?” 

“I told you,” Jason repeats, cold, “he’s not here. So either you start making real pretty conversation with me, Dickie, or you can fuck off.” 

“I need-” Dick tries again, and Jason rolls his eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first time. You want an upgrade. You’re not getting one.” 

Panic touches the corner of Dick’s downturned lips, only briefly, before he reasserts, “I need a new-” 

“Dick, look at me,” Jason cuts across, and Dick’s eyes waver on his face before sliding off again. “Read my lips: you’re not getting shit.” 

“You can’t do this to me,” Dick whispers, teeth baring, even as his gaze flashes over every reflective surface in the place and settles on the neutral bust again. Pins itself to the marble like it can take root. “Do you know who I am?” 

Jason laughs, bleakly. Dick shrinks back from the sound. 

“Yeah, I know who you are,” Jason spits, dragging his feet back down to the carpet. “You’re a washed up has-been with nothing to show for it but a fucked up face-” 

“Shut up!” Dick bellows, and Jason laps into a smirking, smug silence. “It’s not- I’m- My face is fine.” 

“No, it’s not,” Jason sneers, pushing to his feet. Dick’s eyes flash down the length of his torso, snagging on the raised scars and deep-set brands Jason proudly displays. “Look at me, Dick.” 

“No, I don’t,” the man whispers weakly, shrinking next to the youthful face of Janus. He backs up into the glare of that stony face as Jason approaches, wincing when he stops just short of touching him. 

“Look,” Jason repeats, bluntly, “at me.” 

Dick exhales, rough and tremulous, as Jason waits. Caging him in with pockmarked, blemished arms. Corded with sleek muscle, beautiful in everything other than presentation. Dick’s jaw trembles when those blue eyes travel slowly up to his chin, and then higher, over the barely-healed wounds on his face, the knife-bites littering the meat of Jason’s cheeks. 

He looks bereft, when those pretty blue eyes settle on Jason’s own, wounded in a way Jason can’t stand. 

Jason lifts his hands slowly, broadcasting the move, and Dick only makes the barest move to stop him, hands circling loosely around his wrists when Jason touches his collar. 

“Please don’t.” 

Jason presses the blunt of his thumb into the release mechanism, catching the weight of the device when it snaps open with the soft hiss of dispelled pressure. Dick shudders at the loss, chin dipping like he can bury his face in his collarbones when Jason lifts it free of his neck. 

“Look at me, Dick.” 

Those lips, lined with the little white kisses of scar tissue, tremble once before that jawline steels. Blue eyes, lined with dark bruises, lift slowly to meet Jason’s. 

He lets his own expression soften, echoed in his touch when he reaches up to press his thumb to Dick’s discoloured jaw, fingers trailing reverently over the twisted flesh that marks from the corner of each lip to the arch of each high cheekbone. A permanent smile, etched into Dick’s skin with the utmost care. Roman’s finest handiwork. 

“There you are,” Jason murmurs warmly, and Dick chokes softly on the praise. Doesn’t pull away though, and Jason wonders when was the last time someone touched Dick’s face with reverence. When the last time a lover looked upon Dick’s features with anything other than disgust. 

“Jason, please,” Dick mumbles, tilting back when Jason strokes a thumb over his uneven lips. Bearing Roman’s handwritten signature in white flesh. Jason loves the sight of it on him, the intimacy etched into his skin. 

Those hands, also scarred, but less so than his sculpted face, reach up to rope around Jason’s own, easing them away. 

Dick won’t meet his eyes, can’t look upon Jason’s scars without seeing his own macabre wounds reflect back. “I _need_ that upgrade, please.” 

“Why do you wear this shit?” Jason asks, grip tightening on the collar still in his palm. Dick’s gaze flashes down to it when it shifts, drawn like a moth to flame. “You don’t need it, not when you look like this.” 

Dick moans, low and appalled. “You don’t get it,” he bemoans, and reaches for the collar. Steps toward it when Jason shifts it out of his reach. “Jason, please, give it back-” 

“Tell me what I don’t get, Dickie,” Jason insists, tilting that face better into the light. It spills over every mark and crevice, bringing them into stark relief, until Dick frees himself with a harsh toss of his head. 

That glare is back, caged behind unease as he snatches the collar back from Jason’s hand. Frets with the metal and Jason scoffs derisively. 

“You’re pathetic,” he snarls. 

“You haven’t been out there,” Dick shoots back with a glower. His lips are a thin, pressed line. The scars bleed into the anger there. “On the streets, out there with- The way they _look_ at you. With pity, with _disgust._ Like you’re-” 

Jason bleats a laugh. “Fuck them. What do they know? Half of them wear the same false faces anyway, who are they to-” 

“It’s not the same,” Dick snaps, tone rough with unshed tears. He fumbles the collar back around his neck with trembling fingers, scrambling for the activation point as soon as it’s secured. “ _Their_ faces aren’t- aren’t-” 

The mirage shimmers, the holotech powering up with a soft, almost indistinguishable hum that’s smothered beneath Dick’s relieved sigh. His shoulders slump, the scars bleeding back into that perfectly unblemished skin again as the holograph settles to his features, clings like Saran wrap. 

“Fucked up like yours?” Jason finishes, eyes on the unnatural smoothness. Dick holds his gaze for all of a second before those eyes flick to the tile, lashes sweeping those cheekbones Jason hates. 

Dick jaw is tight, and he shifts uncomfortably, like he’s not sure what to do with his hands. Unused to the scrutiny now that he’s spent a year out of the spotlight, playing hermit with his collars. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t buy any of the new tech; Roman blacklisted me from all of his stores. I couldn’t get my hands on any Janus Cosmetics tech if I paid out the nose for it.” 

His tone is flat, disappointed. Just the barest bit resentful, if Jason cared to dig deeper. 

“So what do you want from me?” 

Those blues rise, a plea in their depths. Jason already knows what he’s going to say before the words even crest over his lips. 

He turns on his heel on the carpet, crossing back toward the bar. “No.” 

“An old collar,” Dick tries, following him. Stalking him with an urgency that makes Jason’s skin crawl. “Doesn’t have to be a new model, doesn’t even have to be the second newest model! Just, any old collar, one you don’t use anymore. I’ll take it, whatever you don’t need-” 

“You don’t need a fucking collar, Dick,” Jason snarls, turning back to glare at his predecessor. He shrinks back from Jason’s fury, plaintive. “Roman gave you a fucking gift, and all you want to do is cover it up like those superficial fucks at the shows.” 

Shock flashes across Dick’s features, hatred swift on its heels. “A _gift?_ ” he repeats, incensed. “Is that what he calls those?” 

Jason doesn’t flinch beneath the flick of Dick’s fingers towards his own scars, Roman’s marks bright against the darker tone of Jason’s skin, eating up every clear inch of him. 

“So you let him carve you up like this, for what? For his fucking holotech? For his demonstrations?” 

“That’s my job,” Jason retorts coolly. “ _You_ ought to know.” 

Dick scoffs with thick derision. “Better than most, yeah. And unlike you, I know what Roman does to his canvases when he runs out of blank space.” 

“You’re an ungrateful prick, you know that?” 

“You’re insane,” Dick sneers, and turns for the door. “And you’ve got so far to fall. You don’t even know how far. Just wait til he dumps you for the next hot model that walks through his doors. Wait til he decides you’re just some fucked up face, let him blacklist _you-_ ” 

He doesn’t get any further, his incensed footsteps clattering messily across the shiny tile when Jason shoves him bodily into the Janus bust. He spills over onto the carpet, hitting the floor on his ass, blue eyes wide with fury. 

Before he can speak, the bust tilts, rocking on its sleek podium, and topples to the tile beneath both their shocked stares. White marble spills across the liquid black, a chunk of the youthful facade breaking off on impact and shattering out in a spill of tiny stones. 

Jason watches, stunned, as Dick’s chest heaves. 

Then, the click of a familiar pair of shoes, stepping leisurely down the hallway, and Jason’s blood heats with apprehension. Dick looks nearly as white as the statute when Roman rounds the corner. In their anger, they hadn’t even heard the elevator chime. 

“Care to explain?” Roman murmurs placidly, tugging the leather gloves from his perfectly manicured fingers. Dick shrinks back into the carpet, swallowing harshly. 

Jason glances from him to Roman, mouth opening and closing. 

After a moment of enduring silence, Roman lifts a brow and says, “I thought I told security not to let you up here, Dick.” 

He didn’t think it was possible, but Dick shrivels even further into the floor. Jason’s gaze snaps to Roman. “He got blacklisted from the penthouse? No one told me, or I wouldn’t have-” 

“Quiet,” Roman snaps, nudging the larger chunk of marble with the toe of his shoe. It skitters across the tile and comes to a rest near Dick’s shin, butting up against the soft grey carpet. “I’m assuming you came here for something other than destroying more of my property.” 

Dick flinches, but summons what remains of his fragile resolve to scramble to his feet and backtrack for the door. Jason stays rooted to the spot. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Dick says, stepping gingerly but quickly around the debris. “I’ll go, right now, I’ll-” 

“Dick,” Roman calls when he reaches the elevator, and the man turns back, something hesitantly hopeful in his blue eyes. Jason doesn’t need to hear Roman’s next words to know that fades as swiftly as it came. “If you bring that messed up mug of yours to any of my properties again, I’ll give you a permanent collar. One that even a false face can’t cover up, hear me?” 

Dick swallows harshly, nods jerkily as he thumbs the button. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. I-” 

But Roman’s already stepping into the lounge room, shrugging off his coat to reveal a pressed Italian suit beneath. Jason tosses Dick one last flat look as the elevator chimes, and turns after him. 

“I’m sorry, sir, I wouldn’t have let him up if I’d known.” 

Roman gives him a tight smile, dropping onto the crisp cream sofa as he tosses the thick overcoat aside. He’s a picture of refinement, tailored seams hugging every inch of him, right up to the collar that nudges the blackened, charred flesh of his face. Jason catches a flash of teeth and mottled gums when that lip quirks in a grin. 

“Come here, dear boy.” 

Jason goes gladly, climbing into Roman’s spread lap, knees hitched on either side of his trousers. He settles there, keeping his hands low, trailing over the leather upholstery as Roman’s hands take a firm grip of his thighs through his thin sweats. His grip is cold from the weather outside, and Jason feels too hot beneath them. 

His eyes though; Roman’s eyes stay on his torso, dragging over every upraised scar in a poor imitation of his knife. Jason feels bare beneath that scrutiny, more naked than just skin when Roman cants a thumb to trace the tissue on his ribs, on his pectoral, on the side of his throat and the edge of his jaw. 

Sighing into that touch brings Jason deeper into Roman’s lap, but he’s rewarded with Roman’s lips twisting into another smile. He’s reminded of the teeth marks worried around the knob of his spine, just below where his collar sits whenever Roman parades him around at one of his shows. A mark deeper than any of the wounds on Jason’s face, much more intimate than the kiss of any knife. 

“What a handsome face,” Roman purrs, and Jason can’t help but smile at the praise. Then his eyes spark with that heat, the one he gets whenever a new idea occurs to him, a new muse coaxed to the forefront of his mind. “Left pocket,” he instructs softly. 

Jason’s fingers are already delving into his suit, Roman’s breath warm on his throat as Jason gropes for the switchblade he always carries on him. It’s a heady reminder, the power Roman holds, the brush he carries with him always, ready to paint whenever the ingenuity strikes him. 

And Jason, his willing canvas, there to press the knife into his palm. 

Roman’s teeth join that warm breath for a moment, nipping into the pulse at Jason’s neck, biting down on a shiver before he takes the offered switchblade from Jason’s trembling fingers. His other hand lifts to Jason’s jaw, to turn his face away, tilt it back. Exposing the bare length of his neck now flushed with Roman’s bite. 

It’s unbelievable how quickly Jason’s blood can rise in the presence of the man. Even now he’s tense, wound tight and still as Roman drags a thumbnail over the smooth, unblemished flesh. Waiting for him to make his first mark. 

Jason sees the blade glint in the light when Roman flicks it free of its sheath, lets his eyes slip closed and a soft groan fall from his lips. 

“Got another demonstration tonight, gorgeous boy,” Roman leers, drawing a trail of blood over Jason’s enraptured lips. Teasing him, as Jason opens his jaw and lets Roman nick a small cut into his lower gum. The metal is cold against his tongue, the tang sharp. “Gonna cut you up nice and pretty for our audience so you can show them our latest model.” 

Jason groans louder at that, grinds down into Roman’s lap, and is stilled by that hand returning to his jaw. Roman shushes him, scrapes the flat of the blade up his tendon, trimming whatever stray hairs remain after Jason’s earlier shave. It makes his skin bubble up with gooseflesh. 

“You’re so eager for it.” It’s a compliment, and if Jason wasn’t certain it would disrupt his work, he’d nod. 

He settles for rocking his hips against Roman’s thigh, lashes fluttering when Roman makes his first incision. Blood wells up to kiss the tip of the knife, lather down the blade. Slick and hot and wet where it spills down the line of Jason’s pulse, heartbeat chasing its languid path. 

Roman’s lips curl in a smile, and Jason shudders with the next cut. The pain is sharp and quick, short-lived as Roman works his way over Jason’s flesh. 

“You brush up so good for me, sweet boy,” Roman praises, twisting Jason’s gut with heat. He can feel the trickle of blood on his skin, pooling in the hollow of his throat as he grinds in Roman’s lap. He’s fully hard now, the friction soothing the ache. His hips stutter when Roman guides a thumb down the line of Jason’s jaw. “So very handsome. Go look at yourself in the mirror.” 

Jason’s eyes peel open, marking the heat in Roman’s gaze before he slips off his lap and pads over the carpet to the floor-length mirror behind the bar. He hears Roman rise after him, steps leisurely and calm as Jason admires the new array of incisions, crossing over his existing scars. 

He lifts a thumb to his lip, rolling it over the thin smear of blood with awe. “They look gorgeous, Daddy.” 

Roman hums, smug, and bends to retrieve something from the carpet. Jason flushes when he sees the lid for the decanter in the reflection, but stays where he is until Roman presses up behind him. 

“Have you been spoiling yourself without me again?” 

Jason crooks a lopsided smile. “Just a quick drink, sir. You know how much Dickie gets on my nerves.” 

The corners of Roman’s mouth twitch, an errant hand trailing over Jason’s hipbones, toying with the low waistband of his sweats. Jason can’t stifle the shiver that ripples up his back before Roman turns to toss the discarded lid back onto the bar. 

When he turns back, there’s flat arousal in his gaze, and Jason groans loud when he reaches back to shove Jason’s face against the mirror. 

His breath fogs the glass, rising in a heated smoke as Roman’s grip tightens in his hair, his other hand going to Jason’s hip as he adjusts him. Never letting his temple part from the silver surface. Jason watches his blood smear thin across the glass. 

“Perhaps I should plug you up with it, hmm?” Roman prompts, and then there’s a hand slipping into Jason’s pants, finding his hole with unerring precision. “It’d probably get more use that way.” 

Jason jolts up the mirror an inch when it breeches him, melting into the feeling when Roman pins him more firmly to the glass. The pressure aches, igniting some of his new cuts when Jason’s brow pinches. 

“How many fingers of whiskey?” Roman asks, and it thrills Jason, more than he lets on, that Roman knows him so well. “One? Two?” 

A second finger slides in deftly alongside the first, the friction uncomfortable. It feels delectable though, a moan spilling up Jason’s throat as Roman works him open. A nice ache to match the stinging points of pain on his face and neck. 

He melts into the feeling, struggling to focus enough to say, “Three, Daddy.” 

“ _Three,_ ” Roman repeats with thin indignancy. The tone one might have when dealing with a reluctantly confessing child. Jason hiccups when a third digit is forced in, knees buckling briefly before he steels himself, braced against the mirror. “You have been naughty, haven’t you?” 

“Sorry,” Jason murmurs around a smile, and the apology holds about as much weight as Roman’s does whenever he says it. 

Roman sighs, overdramatic for Jason’s sake. He yanks Jason’s head back a few inches, sharp pain spiking in the muscles of his neck before Roman slams him back against the mirror pointedly. Jason groans loud. 

“We’ve really got to work on your manners, sweet,” Roman murmurs, fucking crudely into his hole with those long digits. Jason keens. 

“You don’t - hah - you don’t pay me to talk,” Jason reminds him, and pauses to groan, from the bottom of his chest, at the force behind those thrusts. It makes the mirror fog. “You pay me to be a pretty face.” 

“Then shut up and earn your paycheck,” Roman retorts. His fingers are gone in the next minute, replaced with the slide of a zipper. Jason’s toes curl into the carpet, his spine dipping as he braces himself for the blunt nudge of Roman’s cock against his hole. 

He works himself in hard, thrusting into Jason’s sloppily prepared passage until he’s fully sheathed. Never giving Jason enough of a reprieve to catch his breath or protest. He scrambles at the mirror with neat nails, reaching back to wrap a hand around the wrist still wound in his hair; to anchor himself as Roman shoves his wounded throat up against the glass with his bruising face. 

“Roman,” Jason moans, when he pulls back. The drag is inviting, enthralling, and Jason yelps when he slides back in again. 

“Put that voice to something useful,” Roman orders, and then the hand is gone from his hair, joining the other on Jason’s hips. He’s leverage back, slammed heartily into the mirror nearly hard enough to crack. It certainly cracks Jason’s pride when Roman uses him for his pleasure, for his own end. 

It makes his toes curl in the carpet, knees buckling as Roman’s thrusts speed. He can’t pull off the mirror enough to get a hand on himself, can’t drop his brace against the glass for fear of buckling completely. 

He can only stand as Roman comes deep inside him, hand snaking down to grind a bloodstained thumb hard into his slit. Jason breaks with a howl, bellowing against the glass as he spurts, wishing he’d had the foresight to lose the sweats. He’s not sure whether Roman would make him clean his sullied carpet though. 

Jason collapses with a grunt when he’s done, Roman’s grips releasing the arches of his hips as he steps away. Jason can hear him rearranging himself, tidying himself up in preparation for the show. He picks his way up to his feet, bracing a palm against the mirror as he slows his ragged breathing. 

“Go clean yourself up,” Roman orders, slapping Jason’s ass harshly when he tugs his sweats up. He tosses a grin over his shoulder, hastening for Roman’s bedroom, and the marble bathroom beyond. “Put something cute on for our guests.” 

“Yes, Daddy.” 

“And wipe that smug look off your face.” 

**Author's Note:**

> [ ](https://linktr.ee/meaninglessblah)


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